It is autumn, this I know
Ask me not to remember how it was
For yesterday was cloudy and full
of shady Groves that left me tattered
Strangled to cold arms of winter spoils
How be it I never saw it came calling?
Thieves are born of a woman's love
yet they stole our joy in arms of time
Severally I attempted to create yesterday
Almost always I failed to breath life into it
Could it be man was a spirit after time?
Sunday, October 20, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: memories